Changes
by Violetlight
Summary: Raven Darkholme, a girl born with blue skin, bright red hair, and yellow eyes, learns that she can make her dreams of looking normal finally come true. But, does she really want to? AU on Mystique's childhood.
1. Chapter 1

**Changes**

A Brotherhood of Mutants story

by Jennifer Bickley (Violet Light)

Disclaimer:Marvel comics owns the X-men, obviously. I wrote this story for my own entertainment and have made and will make 0 off it, so don't sue me.

Author's Note: This is an alternate-universe story about how Mystique's childhood. I started writing it before I read most of the comics regarding everyone's favourite shape shifter, before I knew she was actually 80 years old, Nightcrawler's mother, etc. I was just wondering about what she said in the first movie, about how she was afraid to go to school as a child, and this story grew from there. I know it doesn't follow comic or movie canon, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thanks for reading!

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**Part 1**

Have you ever felt alone in the world, like nobody else could possibly understand you? I bet many people have, but not in the way I do. Nobody else is a monster, a freak, a mutie.

I'm not sure exactly what a "mutie" is, besides an insult my brother and sister call me. I know I'm different from them, from my parents, from everyone else I know. After all, nobody else has blue skin and yellow eyes, but what's wrong with that? Why do my siblings constantly pick on me, blame me for bad things that they do, like the time they forgot to feed the cat for a week? Why do my parents always believe them, and act like I don't exist, especially after we moved here, to New York City. I know it's different from Vienna, but still, why is it they're embarrassed to introduce me to their new American "friends", even though they line up my siblings like dogs at a pet show? Why won't they ever tell me just what's so bad about being blue? Why is it such a horrible thing to be a "mutie"?

For all 12 years of my life, I have tried, unsuccessfully to fit in. To be the child my parents wanted me to be. I tried impressing them with my high grades, my skill in martial arts, the stories I write, but nothing ever worked. I tried ignoring my classmates' taunts, tried to cover the bruises they left when they did more than just yell names. All my life, I have tried to be what other people want me to be, but I haven't been who I wanted to be. I want to be me.

Especially now.

Last Saturday, my life changed forever.

* * *

I was just sitting in my bedroom, looking up at the speckled pattern on the ceiling, and thinking to myself. Imagining. I often imagine things when I'm trying to avoid reality. I was just thinking of how I would like to look, beautiful, with silky long black hair, perfect soft peach skin, blue eyes with actual pupils. Not anything like what I really look like, skin as blue as a drowning victim's, fire engine-red hair, glowing yellow eyes that my sister calls "creepy". Sometimes, a lot of times actually, I just wish I looked normal. Maybe then, my parents would accept me, might actually be proud of me. Maybe if I looked like everyone else, I could be happy.

"Raven, dinner time!" My mother called from downstairs.

"Coming!" I yelled back. I wasn't actually hungry, and I doubted my mother cared whether I ate or not. She just liked to yell these things "to be like a normal family" as she put it. Whatever. I didn't feel like arguing with her that night.

I entered the dining room, trying to seem inconspicuous. "Inconspicuous", that's one of my favourite words. It means "not easily seen", not at all like me, the walking eyesore that I am. Anyway, I just wanted to get dinner, eat it, then go back upstairs to finish my English homework, as fast as possible. No arguing with my mother about how I should "go out and make some friends", no annoying brother calling me "bluie", and no disapproving looks from my father. I just wanted to get this over with so I could be left alone. I grabbed my plate from the kitchen and slunk over to the dining room. Suddenly, I felt the eyes of my whole family on me.

"Raven..." my mother started.

"What?" I looked up. They were all staring at me like I was from another planet. (as far as I know, maybe I am. Maybe a "mutie" is an alien - hey, it's possible!)

"Raven...is that really you?" my sister stuttered.

"What? What is it?" No answer. "Why are you guys acting so weird all of a sudden?"

"Raven, honey...here." My mother then dashed out of the dining room. Okay, now I know something's up. Mom never calls me "honey". She came back a few minutes later, holding something in her hand. My sister's makeup mirror. "Oh Raven...I always knew that one day...oh!" Mom threw her arms around me.

"What the hell...? Mom, what's wrong with you!" My mother never, _ever_ hugs me.

"Here sis, take a look." my sister smiled. "You're cured!"

"Cured...? Well...I was coughing a little this morning, but I didn't think I was sick or anything."

"No, dummy, you're not a mutie anymore!" my brother smiled, actually smiled at me.

"Wha...what do you mean, 'not a mutie'?"

"Take a look." My sister handed me the makeup mirror.

Staring back at me was the black-haired, blue-eyed , normal-skinned beauty I always imagined myself to be!

"How...?"

"It doesn't matter, sweetheart. All that matters is that you're finally better. The doctors all said you never would be, that there's no cure for mutations, but now, you're proof that they were wrong!" My father smiled, patting me on the back. "From now on, we can finally be a normal family!"

A normal family?

Us? The Darkholmes?

Somehow, I doubt it.

* * *

For a while, everything seemed great. For the first time in my life, my family was paying attention to me in a good way! My Mom would ask me how my day went, my father would be interested in my schoolwork, my siblings actually wanted to spend time with me for once. When my sister's friends came over, she asked me to join them, instead of shoving me into a closet or something so they wouldn't know her sister was a mutie. Everything was so much better now that I looked normal.

That was the problem. Everything was better _because_ I had changed physically. The only reason anyone cared at all about my accomplishments was because I looked like a normal person. Had I got an A on my essay on Ophelia's role as an oppressed woman in Hamlet even a week earlier, my father would have just said, "that's nice, Raven", not taken me out for dinner like he did now. I know I should have been happy that I was now accepted, but I wasn't. The praise, the attention, everything just seemed so superficial, so fake.

Just like the "new me".

Every morning when I woke up, I looked in the mirror and saw the same blue-skinned mutie Raven I had always been, but simply by thinking about it, I transformed into the black-haired girl that was my new persona. The beast into the beauty. And contrary to fairytales, it's always the beauty who lives happily ever after.

Never, ever, the beast.

And you know what? Life isn't a fairy tale.

I began thinking of my black-haired alias as Raven Darkholme, at least, the Raven Darkholme that everyone expected me to be. But that wasn't the true me, and I knew it. "Raven" was simply a disguise, a costume to fool everyone else. The real me was the blue-skinned girl that everyone else had shunned. I know for sure, since "Raven" wasn't the only new form I could turn into. Once, my sister called on the phone, begging me to cover for her while she went on a date with her latest biker boyfriend that my parents "barely approved of". I decided to experiment, so I thought of my sister the same way I think of "Raven". Sure enough, I transformed into an exact doppelganger of my sister, right down to her stringy, perma-fried blond hair that she thinks is so beautiful. I even sounded like her. When my mother came home, she didn't even know the difference! After that, late at night before I went to sleep, I would practice transforming into my sister, her friends, models out of magazines, everyone. I could even turn into adults, like my parents, even change my sex, becoming a boy, not that I like being a boy. It's kind of gross, having that thing dangling between my legs and all. Anyway, between each new transformation I would have to turn back into my original form, my real, now secret form.

It has a certain air of mystery to it, a certain..._mystique_.

* * *

I thought I could get away with it forever, being Raven, or one of my various other disguises in public, and keep the true me a secret. But like all good things, my little secret came to its end.

About two weeks after my initial transformation, I was just practicing with my Raven persona in my room before school, looking in the mirror and trying out different hair styles, changing them, of course, as easily as I could change to Raven in the first place. The problem is that between each new transformation, I have to turn back to my old self, so every time I went from ponytail to braid to whatever, I had to change back to my blue-skinned, red-haired self before I tried something new. Mom and Dad had just enrolled me in a new school, where I could "start over" with no one there who knew I had once been a freak. I was excited about starting something new, and I guess I got careless.

"Raven, hurry up sweetie! You're going to be la..."

"Mom, NO!"

It was too late. I couldn't stop Mom from pushing open my bedroom door.

The pretty purple blouse she was carrying for me dropped to the floor. Her mouth hung open for a second, shocked at the sight of her "Raven" melting back into the mutie daughter she had thought was gone forever.

No matter how hard I try, I will always remember the look of pure horror, and disgust on her face, right before she let out a scream that pierced my heart.

Mom, I thought you loved me. Loved me for who I was.

I was wrong.

* * *

I never made it to my new school. Never got to meet new friends, join clubs, do all the things "normal" kids can do. I never got to have a normal life. I was never even given the chance. Mom and Dad spent the rest of that day yelling at me, yelling at each other, or yelling at some "expert" on the phone, demanding to know why I wasn't cured. I tried to tell them, tried to show them that I could transform into other people, but they wouldn't listen. They just didn't want to hear it.

"Look, how is this a problem? I can become 'Raven' anytime I want; nobody else has to know about me." I tried to reason with them. Too bad reasoning rarely works with hysterical people.

"You just don't understand, do you, young lady?" my father argued. "You're not normal! What would happen if this got out, if people found out you're some kind of shape-shifting..."

"Shape shifting what, Dad! Go ahead, say it!"

I never got to hear what Dad said (though I'm pretty sure it began with an F and rhymed with "squeak"). Mom got off the phone, and ran into the room, breathless. "Hans, the FMR said they'll take her." she addressed my father in a monotone.

"FMR? What are you talking about? Mom...Dad...?"

"The FMR is the Federal Mutant Registry. They're an organization meant to deal with..." my father began, then stuttered to a stop.

"Deal with what?"

"With mutants." Mother finished. "Raven, you're a mutant, a dangerous one at that, and these people are going to take you to someplace where you can learn not use these...powers of yours. They'll teach you to be normal, maybe even really cure you. It won't be long, then you can come back home and we can be a real family."

Mutants. I recognized that term, at least, from biology class. A mutant is a lifeform that has a genetic difference from others of its species, like an albino, an animal with all-white fur. I remember my science teacher saying that mutation was the driving force of evolution, that without those random differences, life on Earth would have never been anything better than bacteria. Sounds like a good thing, to me, to be born different, better than those before. I remember now, that term being applied to me, when people thought I wasn't listening, they'd whisper it, like it was the name of some terrible disease or something. Mutant, something different, something better.

Something to be feared by those who weren't.

Still, I couldn't believe this! My own parents were going to send me off with some government goons, thinking they'll make me normal! I exploded! "NORMAL, NORMAL! THATS ALL YOU EVER SAY! Did it ever occur to either of you that maybe, I _like_ who I am?"

"Raven, what are you saying? How could you like being a..."

"A freak? A mutie? You didn't even have the dignity to tell me what "mutie" meant! If normal is what you are, hating those who are different, then that's the last thing I want to be! You know what, Mom, I am a mutant. That's who I am and I'm not going to change who I am for you, or Dad, or the government, or anyone else! I DON'T WANT TO BE NORMAL!"

I ran upstairs, grabbed my backpack, and started throwing things in. A couple changes of clothes, my karate uniform, about fifty dollars I had saved, Midnight, the plushie cat I have had since I was a baby, my story notebook, some pencils, everything that was important to me. Lastly, I looked at the family picture we had just gotten taken after I first became "Raven". It was the first time my family had wanted me in the family portrait at all. I threw it back down. I didn't need it. I then went down to the kitchen, and filled a thermos full of water and grabbed a couple apples and granola bars, putting them in my backpack as well. I was going, but not with the feds.

"Raven..." My mother started. She and the rest of my family were standing in the kitchen doorway. I hadn't even noticed them. How do they like it, not to be noticed?

"Please, don't go, sis." my sister asked. I couldn't tell if she was sincere or not.

"You were going to send me away anyway. What difference does it make to you whether I go with the Feds or on my own?" I asked them. "Either way, you got what you wanted -- the mutie's gone. You should be happy."

I walked out the kitchen door, away from the plain white-painted suburban house identical to its neighbours, away from the family I had believed for so long had actually cared about me. Away from normal. I only looked back once, when my mother called my name one last time.

No, she didn't call my name.

"It's not Raven." I yelled back, the last words I would ever say to my family. "My name is Mystique!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Changes**

By Jennifer Bickley (Violetlight)

Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own the x-men, Mystique, or any of Marvel's other characters. The character of Motoko I borrowed from the anime and manga series "Love Hina".

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****Part 2**

When you live on the streets, you begin to miss certain things that other people take for granted, like real food, decent bathrooms, showers, a bed to sleep in. It's those little things that people barely think of that can make all the difference.

But being a mutant has its advantages.

I found that my ability to turn into anyone was more than just an unusual way to play dress-up. It was a very important survival skill, and it gave me an edge over other street kids. For example, once, when I was really tired, I hung around a hotel until I saw an important-looking lady come out, wearing a fancy business suit, and yelling impatiently for a cab. I walked right past her, into the hotel, slipped behind a coat rack, then turned into a twin of her. All I had to do was tell the desk clerk I had left the keys in "my room" and volia, I had a real bed to sleep in for a few hours. I could use my shapeshifting tricks to do almost anything, from sneak into a gym to use the showers, to steal food from busy street stalls.

I spent a lot of time at the big, central library. I didn't even have to use any other disguise other than my regular "Raven" one. It's surprising how little people use libraries, when they're so useful. For most of one day, for example, one of the only other people I saw was a middle-aged, greying man. Anyway, he was helpful in pointing out the biology section:

"Human genetics? You're kind of young for that, aren't you?"

"I like this stuff."

"Heh, you remind me of my nephew. He's a quite a few years younger than you, but he's really into science. He's going to really make something of himself one day, that Peter, and if you keep reading, I'm sure you will too. Anyway, have fun."

"I will. Thanks, mister..."

"Don't call me mister, you make me feel old. It's Ben."

"I'm Rav..., I mean, Mystique."

"Mystique? Hmm, kids today..." he mumbled, wandering off. He seemed nice, but would he have been so nice if he knew what I really looked like? For some strange reason, I thought that maybe, just maybe, he would. Ben's family called out to him then from the children's section, his wife, a kind-looking older woman, and a cute little boy who must have been no older than four, with big, Coke-bottle glasses and clutching a kids' science book on spiders. That must be Peter. They look like such a nice, happy family. I turned away, back to my book. I shouldn't think about things I can't have.

Anyway, I learned quite a bit about my type of mutation. Apparently, it's caused by something called the "X-gene", which is actually a whole series of genes in a person's DNA, which causes different things to happen to that person depending on their mutation. It talked about some mutants that could fly like birds, some who became strong enough to lift up cars, even some who could read minds. According to the book, mutations usually manifest themselves at puberty, when so many other changes are also happening to people, but some are born looking different, like me. It didn't say if anyone else out there could shapeshift, but just knowing that I wasn't the only mutant in the world was a comfort.

I know what I want to do now. I want to find other mutants, other people like me. Maybe then, I'll find someone who will understand me. Maybe even someone who will love me for who I am.

Before I start my journey, though, there's one place I have to go first.

* * *

One of the only people who had ever been nice to me when I was growing up was my karate instructor, Ms. Motoko (or, as she preferred to be called, Motoko-sensei). She's an accomplished, big-city lawyer, as well as a karate instructor, and even writes what she calls "trashy romance novels" in her spare time. I read one of her books, "The Sword of True Love's Bane", and it wasn't that bad, even with the dorky, dumb hero and the quite violent heroine, who kept kicking the snot out of him. Anyway, when I asked her once why she taught me, while other clubs and teams wouldn't let "the mutie" join, she laughed and said that in the girls dorm where she had grown up in Japan, she had met many people who were far weirder than me, blue skin and all. She was one of the only "normal" people I had ever met who had appreciated me for what I could do, not judged me by how I looked. I wanted to see her one last time before I left.

The dojo was empty. I shouldn't really be surprised, since classes aren't scheduled to start for another two hours, but seeing it like this is kind of strange, with the exercise mats neatly piled in a corner instead of spread out all over the place, and no cries of "ki-ya!" every few seconds as students practice. It was almost scary.

"Raven?" I heard Sensei's voice behind me. "It's been a week, I was starting to get worried about you."

"Sorry for making you worry, Sensei …" I answered, and just seeing her there with that kind, concerned look on her face, a look nobody else ever gave me, was too much. I ran into her arms and just cried, telling her everything that happened to me. I don't know how much she understood between sobs, but just the fact that she held me, stroking my hair, being more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was, helped.

Once I had calmed down, Motoko made me a nice hot cup of green tea. She was quiet, with a look of concentration on her face I had only seen on her before when she was worried about some upcoming case. Finally, she looked up from her tea and quietly asked, "what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know, search for other mutants, maybe? I mean, in a big city like New York I can't be the only one."

"No, I suppose not." Mokoto mused. "You're not returning to your family then." It was not a question. I shook my head anyway. "I had tried talking to them on several occasions, but I soon found it was useless to talk to people who do not want to listen," she continued, "but you don't need me to tell you that."

"No, I don't."

"I have to say, I'm impressed with how resourceful you have been." A small smile crossed her lips. "Back in Japan, you would make the perfect ninja."

"Thanks, I think. But I didn't think there were any ninjas anymore."

"That's what they want you to believe." Motoko said in that direct way of hers I admired so much. "There are a lot more things in this world than people want to believe. You are proof of that."

She got up then, and went to the katana sitting as usual in its scabbard on the wall, though I occasionally caught Sensei Motoko practicing with it after karate practice sometimes. Her movements seem like a dance between her and her sword; I always wanted to learn to do that myself. She unsheathed her sword and unwrapped something from around the hilt. She stood there quietly, thinking.

I walked over to her. "Sensei?"

In her hands was a small, silver skull-shaped pendant on a silver chain. "This is an heirloom my sister gave me when I came to New York. It was the only thing we ever received from our father, who was a ninja – the skull symbol of his clan."

"It's beautiful …" I breathed. Something about that pendent seemed to call out to me.

"It's yours."

"What?! No Sensei, I couldn't …" I started.

"I was hoping that one day I could take you to Japan with me, maybe take you to my family's temple and train you in kendo, but now your journey lies along a different path than mine." She placed the pendant in my hands. "Please take my teachings and this pendent with you, Mystique, and our spirits will forever be joined, no matter where life takes us."

I nodded silently. Nobody else in my life had ever given me such love, such understanding, but Motoko was right. I couldn't just stay with her, no matter what I would have liked. I _needed_ to find the other mutants, others like me. It's just something I had to do.

Besides the pendant and a hug, Motoko gave me nothing else, not because she was unkind, but because she knew she didn't need to. She trusted that I would be able to take care of myself, like I had been doing. That trust meant more to me than any thing.

I put on the skull pendant not in the usual way around my neck, but centering it on my forehead, just at my hairline, fastening the silver chain at the nape of my neck, like it was a super heroine's tiara. I'm not sure why I did that, it just felt like the proper place for it to be.

Now, I truly began my journey, without regrets, and without looking back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Changes**

By Violetlight

Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own the x-men, Mystique, Toad, or any of Marvel's other characters.

Author's Note: I started this one quite a while ago, and I'm not sure if I'll ever finish it. Regardless, I should take the rest of what I have and post it. Why not, eh? It's better than letting it linger on my hard drive forever. Besides, who knows? I've been writing about another shapeshifter in another genre (Fullmetal Alchemist's Envy), so maybe I'll eventually return to Mystique.

* * *

**Part 3**

Finding other mutants turned out to be harder than I initially thought. After a little more research at the library, I learned that most mutants are lucky enough to actually look like regular people, so looking randomly through crowds for other oddly-coloured people probably wasn't going to work, not even in New York. I did see some pretty weird-looking people in the weeks I was on the streets, especially in the subway stations, but nothing weird enough to be considered another mutant.

Nothing, that was, until one night, when I couldn't smuggle my way into a hotel and had to settle for Central Park.

Winter had come early to New York that year, with a light drizzle of snow falling, maybe not seeming like much to those snuggled warmly in their homes, but frustratingly cold for anyone caught out in it for too long, like me. I had hidden underneath a footpath bridge, shivering, trying not to be noticed by anyone else caught out in the park when I heard a commotion from just past the nearest bend in the path.

Normally, I would just ignore things like this, probably just some punk kids graffiti-ing the park map again, but as the sounds came closer, I realized it wasn't just kids getting into their usual kind of trouble. I heard taunts and jeers, cries from their victim, and distinctively, over all the other sounds of bullying, the word _freak_.

I crept closer, out of the shadows, to investigate.

The first boy I saw could have passed for Nelson Muntz from _The Simpsons_. He was short with scruffy brown hair, wearing a faded old New York Rangers sweater and scuffed up sneakers, soaked through from the snow. His buddy was taller, dressed pretty much the same too, except for the old trench coat three sizes too big he wore instead of a hockey sweater. Both of them must have got their fashion advice from _Wedgie Givers Monthly_ or something. They looked just like the kind of kids would shove me in a locker given half the chance.

"No, please stop!" I heard a distinctively British-accented voice cry out. The bullies' victim was curled up in a little ball at their feet, covering his head with his arms, trying his best to protect himself from their kicks.

I know I should have stayed out of it, but just hearing that boy's cries, seeing those bullies pick on him … something snapped in my mind. I couldn't, I just couldn't let someone else be treated as badly as I had. But, I remembered my karate training, Sensei Motoko' words:

_Fight not just with your body, but with your mind. Only then will evil be vanquished._

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and thought of the policewoman I had seen earlier that day, pulling over some idiot for speeding in a school zone. Her severe blond hair, tied back in a bun, the confident, no-nonsense way in which she dealt with the jerk behind the wheel … and the way in which she yanked his ignorant butt out through his window and slammed him into the hood of his car for an arrest when he made some rude comment about policewomen in general that I didn't quite catch.

I like women like her. It's kind of an honour to borrow her form.

The bullies continued their kicking, until they heard "me" yell "Hey, you there!" In the dim light of the streetlamps, all they saw was a silhouette of Law and Order.

"Ah crap! The cops!" The bullies ran. Cowards, all of them.

What I somewhat expected, somewhat didn't, was for the boy they were bullying to jump up so quickly, trying to get away as well. What I really didn't expect was for him to jump about fifteen feet into the air. Looks like I was right about him.

I quickly changed back to my normal form. Yes, my normal, mutated, blue-skinned self. "Wait!" I yelled back at him, stepping into the glow of a street lamp. "I'm like you!" Even in the dim light, he could see the difference. I hope.

He looked over his shoulder, and I saw his eyes widen, his yellow eyes. I must have startled him, as his long legs got tangled up as he tried to land properly instead of jump again, and ended up in a heap in the snow. I reached out a rainbow-coloured woolen gloved hand to him, and took his greenish-tinged one in return.

"Bugger! You are like me! Well, not really, but close enough."

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. Nothing I'm not used to," he said."

I nodded. We didn't really do anything for a few minutes then, just looked at each other, yellow glowing eyes looking into yellow-irised eyes, pale, sickly green skin compared to bright blue. He was the first other mutant I'd ever seen, and I guess I was the same to him.

"I'm Mystique." I told him. It was the only intelligent thing I could think of to say.

"Mortimer. Mortimer Toynbee." He said, as his eyes wandered away from mine.

Curious at what he was looking at, I looked over my shoulder. It was only a garbage can.

Until a long tongue shot out of nowhere, spearing a fly frozen to the can.

I looked back. Mortimer smiled as the tip of his tongue, fly included, retracted into his mouth.

"But you can call me Toad."


End file.
